


The Future Never Looked This Good

by 1shinymess (magpie4shinies)



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpie4shinies/pseuds/1shinymess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on the suitsmeme as <a href="http://suitsmeme.livejournal.com/1110.html?thread=26966#t26966">The Future Never Looked This Good</a>. The prompt was "Tom just seemed to really like Mike. Was that just me? Expand on this please?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Future Never Looked This Good

**Author's Note:**

> Set almost immediately after E2: Errors and Omissions.

Meeting Tom Keller-- _Tom Keller_ \--is just one of the many perks of his new job. How much time has he spent on Keller's site? Hundreds of hours at this point, probably.

It makes it a little harder to believe that they're out together, getting drinks after Mike gave him an out for working with Louis.

 _Harvey's a shark, no question, but he'll be honest about it with you._

 _...what's his tennis look like?_

 _Honestly? I have no idea. We're usually doing lawyer things._

 _Promising. Let me check him out...I'll probably make the call tonight._

Just like that. And now they're out at a bar Mike couldn't have afforded last month, doing shots he'll never be able to power through to bike home. He thinks about that with a flare of worry, then remembers he actually has money for a taxi now and focuses on enjoying himself.

"You know, you're pretty cool," Tom says, slinging an arm over Mike's shoulder after swallowing a shot that was blue with orange swirls.

His face is close enough Mike can smell his breath, something like coconut, but sweeter, and high proof vodka wafting over his face. His eyes drop almost automatically to Tom's mouth before he can stop them, and fear is a sobering influence as he rips them away, trying not to think about Tom's pink mouth.

"...whoa," Tom says, tone understanding. "Really?"

Mike drops his head to the table. "I promise not to hit on you?"

Tom laughs and tightens his grip around Mike's shoulders, tugging him straight and back to close quarters with his face. "Why not? You're hot. That would be totally cool."

Mike stares at him for a minute and then grins. "Because, as your lawyer, it's my recommendation we take that part of the party away from anyone with a camera phone."

Tom laughs again, a gregarious drunk, and waves down the waitress to pay their tabs. He covers Mike's too, "in return for not having to work with Litt, man, you don't _even know_ ," and Mike can't say no to that.

So they finish their drinks while the waitress takes the payment and head out to flag a taxi. This end of town is prime this time of night so they don't wait long. Tom's place is ten minutes from the bar, which is a good thing because Mike's nerves haven't had a chance to overwhelm his libido yet, and Tom's hand is heavy on his thigh.

"Want me to blow you?" Tom asks, voice low and lips brushing Mike's ear while the cab driver very firmly keeps his eyes on the road. Mike's grip on his elbow tightens. It must be painful, but Tom just laughs. "Yeah, OK."

Mike isn't sure how they get inside with all of their clothes on, is only half sure they didn't give the cab driver a show.

It doesn't matter, it's fine, it's _fantastic_ , because the minute they get inside, Tom pushes him into the door and doesn't care when Mike pulls on his hair and bites at his mouth.

"God, you don't even know," Tom mutters against his cheek. Mike's got his hands between them, somehow trying to undo both of their belts. "You don't know how many people try and bullshit me--"

"I'm nothing special," Mike confesses, "really--"

And Tom laughs and rolls his hips forward, trapping Mike's hands between them. "You have got to learn how to accept a compliment, man," he says, and then disappears.

Mike stares straight ahead for a long, disbelieving moment while Tom's blond hair almost glows at the bottom of his peripheral vision.

 _Holy shit,_ he thinks. _This is actually happening._

"You'll love this," Tom says, making quick work of Mike's belt and the button/zipper combo of his slacks. "I give blow jobs like a boss. I can fuck you later, right?"

"Uh. Sure," Mike says, because it seems polite. And then he's pretty well distracted by the stripe Tom licks up the bottom of his dick, and between one second and the next, while Mike has his eyes closed and head tipped back, he works Mike's slacks down far enough on his thighs to cup his balls, and that's pretty fantastic.

It probably isn't classy, but Tom drunk is exponentially more skilled than the handful of people who'd ever blown Mike before, though if he's fair, booze doesn't fuck with his coordination and ability to connect his thoughts linearly like pot does, so it might be him that's better at getting off.

(Part of him points out with a sort of twisted amusement that Tom's also better drunk than Trevor was sober, in addition to being _Tom Keller._ )

He wants to touch and apparently he's allowed to, so he slides a hand into Tom's hair. His day has mostly done for the light gel he'd used in the morning so Mike's fingers slide straight in and anchor, and Tom grins up at him and holds up a foil packet between two fingers. Mike watches him take a corner between his teeth and pull it open with the hand not cupping Mike's balls. He pulls the elastic out and spits the foil to the side.

"Ready?" Tom holds the condom against the tip of Mike's erection and Mike watches, impressed and ridiculously turned on when he _puts it on by going down on him_.

 _This is my life now,_ Mike thinks. Tom Keller, and he's already had more fun tonight than the last time he went out with a guy. _God, I love my job._

Tom pulls off after a few wonderful minutes and laughs at Mike's distressed whimper. "Let's take this to the couch," he says. "I want more room to work with."

Mike has to pull his pants up or take them off, and right now pants off sounds like the best thing ever.

"Nice," Tom says from his couch. "I can finger you now."

Mike looks at him and wonders why that's so hot when he's never really had a home run experience with actually fucking guys, then reminds himself that was his old life. In his new life, apparently people are porn stars who deep-throat like a pro.

(He should ask Harvey about that, except he _never ever will_.)

He almost trips getting to the couch, and then he spends five minutes thoroughly investigating Tom's neck and shoulders. He may bite one of his biceps.

Tom sounds breathless and amused when he tugs Mike away from the hickey he's sucking into his left pectoral. "So glad I decided to switch," he says, kissing Mike forcefully and then shoving him back into the couch and sliding off. "Spread your legs as wide as you can."

 _Sounds reasonable,_ Mike decides, and wonders where all this heat is coming from. He never used to get off on being bossed around. Of course, the sex was never this good, either. Something to think about later, maybe.

"Fuck, yeah," Tom says, eyes fixed straight ahead of him, like Mike's condom covered dick is the best thing he's seen all day.

He's kneeling directly in front of Mike, pressed close between his thighs and leaning to the side, one hand moving under his couch cushions. When he straightens, he has both a tube and several familiar packets.

Mike swallows, thinking _he's ambitious_ , and then Tom grins at him and he somehow gets harder just from that and he wonders if maybe they might need more.

 _I love my life._


End file.
